


Mark of the Dalish

by MadMax17



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm bad at tags, M/M, Unrequited Love, Will edit these later, for a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMax17/pseuds/MadMax17
Summary: The Herald falls from the sky and from the second he steps foot on the ground, he's overwhelmed. He misses his family, his clan, his sister; everybody's questions and hopes hurt his head. But a certain Tevinter mage is able to drown out all that nonsense and make things easier for him. What will he do when their worlds try tearing them apart? A Tevinter mage and a Dalish elf, who would have thought? Will the fear of disappointment from clan Lavellan scare Vanarel away or will his newfound freedom be enough courage for him to take a chance?





	1. Chapter 1

Pain shot up his arm, burning, as if the limb were on fire. The elf groaned, his throat sore and ragged and the sound was strange to his own ears. He opened his eyes and blinked wearily, his blurry vision making it hard to see the room around him. He could barely make out the shapes of several men, all wearing armor that glinted dimly in the candlelight, with their swords drawn on him. He shivered harshly.

A loud slam rang out from in front of him, a door being thrown open. He looked up and saw a heavily-armored woman walk in, her hand on the hilt of her longsword as she strode through the door. She had a jagged scar on her face, the shadow it cast making her more intimidating than she might normally be. She came to a stop in front of him and glared down, her eyes burning. She was followed in by another woman with pale skin and a hood. The men stood at attention, sheathing their swords in favor of saluting the women respectfully.

The scarred woman knelt beside him and spoke with a thick accent. “Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?” she said, rising and walking around him, her heavy footsteps echoing. Her voice made chills run up his spine. “The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

She stared down at him and he swallowed thickly. “I-I don't…” he began before coughing hoarsely, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. His palm gave off a dim green glow and he stared at it, horror twisting his features.

She grabbed his hand roughly, causing pain to shoot up his arm and he hissed. “Explain this,” she growled.

“I-I don't know-” he coughed again, tears welling in his eyes. “what that is...or how it got there.”

“You liar-” She reached for her sword and he fell back, trying to crawl away, scrambling against the cold stone floor and trying to ignore the sharp pain shooting up his arm. The soldiers that had previously been on the border of the room closed in, sharp points of their swords turned toward him. He stopped moving, his heavy breath echoing through his pounding head and he stared at the glinting blades. He could just imagine his blood dripping off the shiny metal and tears welled in his eyes at the thought.

“We need him Cassandra,” the pale woman stepped forward, pushing Cassandra back, before she could use her sword against her prisoner. The guards followed suit, seemingly calmed by her words. The hooded woman turned back to him. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?” she asked, her voice much more gentle than this Cassandra woman’s had been.

He furrowed his brow, thinking. Only glimpses of the previous day littered his thoughts, small fragments of memories racing through his mind. “I remember...running. Things were chasing me, and then...a woman?”

The redhead frowned. “A woman?”

“She was with me. But then...” he said hurriedly, listening to his shackles jingle as he moved his hands. The soldiers around the room tensed, some of them pressing in tighter. One pointed his sword to the elf’s throat, the sharp tip pressing into the delicate flesh and he swallowed thickly, the tears that had previously been pooling in his eyes finally spilling over.

Cassandra stepped forward, pushing the blade away from his throat. The movement was so aggressive the blade broke the skin, a small cut burning on his sensitive skin. “You go,” she said, speaking with her comrade, ignoring his quiet hiss. “I will take him to the rift.”

She nodded reluctantly and left the room, followed by the soldiers. Cassandra knelt beside the tiny elf and released him from his shackles, only to tie his wrists again with thick rope she used to drag him up.

“What did happen?” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice steady and failing miserably.

She sighed. “It will be better...if I show you.”

She led him through the building he was in, up a set of stairs and into a grand hall before he got led out onto the cold. He shivered, his ears so chilled he could no longer feel them. He attempted lifting his hands to blow warm air on them but was stopped by Cassandra pulling on the rope again, making him stumble forward a bit. He glared at the back of her head but decided to simply follow whatever orders she gave him, and he walked behind her silently.

Looking around he dimly noted everyone's eyes were locked on him, dozens of different expressions greeting him. He swallowed thickly, trying to quell the fear that flared up in him. He glanced up at the sky, normally a soft blue was now colored a bright green, tendrils of the color climbing out from a massive rip in its center. His stomach dropped.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said. “It is a massive tear between this world and the world of demons. It is not the only such rift, only the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

He tried to remember how to breathe. “A-an explosion can do that?”

“This one did,” she turned to him. “Unless we do something, the Breach may continue to grow until it swallows the world.”

Said Breach crackled, a loud boom echoing through the valley and people fell to their knees, crying out as the Breach grew. Pain exploded from his palm, shooting up his arm, and he fell, grabbing his hand tightly. Tears pricked at his eyes and he bit his lip, drawing blood in an attempt to keep from screaming.

Cassandra knelt beside him. “Unless you do something now, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

The elf glared at her before sighing deeply, massaging his hand. “Very well.”

She looked surprised, her eyes widening slightly. “You mean-?”

“I'll do what I can,” he said, eyes burning into hers, trying desperately to convey his innocence. “Whatever it takes.”

She nodded respectfully before helping him stand, taking a small knife out she cut the rope that held his hands together.

“What is your name?” she asked suddenly, her eyes burning into him.

He swallowed thickly, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them. “Vanarel,” he said softly. “Vanarel Lavellan.” The sound of his clan’s name made his heart ache, concern filling him for a moment before Cassandra cleared her throat. 

“Come,” she said, leading him through a large wooden gate and refusing to look at him. “It is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, his body tense. She didn't answer him, only continued walking with a grim expression on her face. The sound of their feet moving through the snow was covered up by various screams and shouts, people calling out to their God as they hurried away from the battles. 

One of them called out for his family, crying about how sorry he was that he couldn't do more for them and Vanarel had to force himself to look away.

The Breach sounded out again, growing larger and agony spread from his palm upward making him sick, before a large burst of energy shot in front of him, destroying the bridge he was on. The pair fell onto a frozen lake, debris falling around them loudly. He landed on his back, hitting his head on the ice with a sickening crack and the world spun, his vision blacking out for several seconds.

Cassandra didn't seem nearly as fazed by the fall and she stood as soon as she landed, pulling out her blade to face off a demon that appeared out of thin air, yelling at him to stay behind her.  
She rushed off toward the creature, her heavy footsteps getting quieter the farther she chased it. Another tear in the veil crackled in front of him, opening just far enough to allow one more demon through. The creature looked at him, its face showing no emotion, as it made its way to him.

His head spun and he scrambled to stand as he tried not to be sick, looking at Cassandra. She glanced back and growled trying to finish off her demon quicker, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to be finished anytime soon.

He swallowed thickly and looked around desperately trying to find anything to fight the thing in front of him off. With shaky hands he reached towards a bow and plucked it from its spot, tumbling away from the demon in time to avoid its claws. 

He grit his teeth in an attempt to keep from passing out as he gently pawed the back of his head, his hand coming back with blood.

The demon turned toward him and released a deafening shriek, the sound hurting his ears and forcing him to turn his attention toward it. It towered over him and growled as it shuffled toward him, the sound of it’s steps echoing throughout the area. He raised his bow, pulling the string back to his cheek and loosing an arrow, watching it sink into what would be the thing’s neck. It cried out and fell forward, crawling toward him before he hurriedly shot it again, causing it to silently dissolve back into the fade.

Vanarel panted and knelt down to pick up the arrow, looking it over for any damage. He tried to calm his breathing, staring at the spot the creature had been standing. All he could think was how quickly it had happened and he forced his wide eyes away from the scorched piece of ice, not even bothering to try to understand how it was possible to burn freezing water.

Facing Cassandra, he stepped back with his heart pounding. Her blade was pointed toward him, the sharp edge close enough to cut him if she had a mind to and he had to force himself to swallow the scream welling up in his throat.

“Drop your weapon,” she demanded. “Now!”

His eyes widened, indignation flowing through him. “A demon attacked me,” he shouted. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You don't need to fight.”

“Are you saying it won't happen again?” he growled. “We are in a demon infested valley and I need to be able to defend myself.”

They stared at each other for several seconds before she sighed, putting her blade away. “You are right,” she said. “I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to remain defenseless.”

He nodded stiffly, watching her as she stepped forward. He kept his hand tight on the bow, ready to use it if the need arose. They walked in silence, fighting more of the creatures as they were surrounded.

“Over here,” she shouted suddenly, rushing forward. “I can hear the fighting.”

“Who’s fighting?” he asked loudly, trying to keep up with her. 

“You’ll see soon,” she said, turning a corner and drawing her blade. “We must help them!”

Vanarel nodded and nocked an arrow, pulling the string to his cheek and letting it fly, piercing demon’s flanks. He watched them fall, trying not to breathe too deeply. The air smelt like sulphur, a sickening scent filling his nostrils.

“Hurry,” a deep voice shouted in front of him. “Before more come through!”

His hand was grabbed roughly and he tried pulling it back, pain shooting through his arm and making his knees weak. The man holding him ignored his protests, directing his hand toward a tear in the fade. The rift pulsed before closing.

He cried out, burning heat filling him as he tried to remember how to breathe. “What...what did you do?” he asked, voice cracking as he tried to hold back his tears.

“I did nothing,” an older elf said from in front of him, smiling almost proudly. “The credit is yours.”

Curiosity filled him, almost overpowering the pain. Almost.

“I closed that thing,” he said, shock obvious in his words. “How?”

He briefly explained his theories before he was interrupted. “Good to know, and here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever.”

Vanarel turned and saw a dwarf, light hair glinting, smirking at the group before winking at Cassandra. She seemed to react to his presence with annoyance, a disgusted noise leaving her mouth. 

“Varric Tethras,” he said proudly, bowing humorously. His attitude instantly helped put Vanarel at ease, he even threw the man a small smile and was gifted one in return. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.”

“Hello,” Vanarel said softly and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be rude. “Thats a...nice crossbow, you have there.” 

Genius. 

Varric chuckled. “Yeah, me and Bianca have been through alot together,” he looked at the weapon fondly.

“You named your crossbow Bianca?”

He full on laughed. “Yeah, and she’ll be great company in the valley.”

He moved to start walking down the path before Cassandra stood in his way. “Absolutely not,” she said. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” he said, quirking a brow at her. “Your men aren't in control anymore, you need me.”

She seemed to mentally debate with herself before growling, turning away from him annoyed. The older elf walked up to Vanarel, face still plastered with a silly grin.

“I am Solas,” he said. “If there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Varric spoke before Vanarel had the chance to question it. “He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’. Did a good job of it too,” he patted Vanarel on the back before following Cassandra down the path.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all,” Vanarel said softly, as he and Solas followed behind the group. He seemed to sense the younger man’s uneasiness and answered as clearly and comfortingly as he could, his voice soft and warm.

“I am a mage,” he said. “I have explored the fade a great amount, I know much on such matters.”

Vanarel swallowed thickly. “Perhaps when this is over, you could tell me more,” he chuckled shakily, trying to calm his racing heart before clearing his throat. “Provided I am not executed once this is over.”

Solas looked at him surprised before nodding, a somber expression on his face. “I can do that.”


	2. Chapter 2

The elf jerked awake, pain shooting up his arm and he groaned, turning his head with a grimace. Memories of that final battle rushed back to him, making his head hurt. He’d reached his hand up to close the rift, and the power of it had flowed up to the Breach. The consequent flash of power had been too much for him, his body lighting up with agony as he was thrown away from it, blacking out before he landed.

He blinked his eyes rapidly, adjusting to the brightness of the room he was in. A loud bang sounded with a small gasp, and he shot upright, gripping his head tightly as a flash of pain shot through it, making him nauseous.

“I-I didn't know you were awake,” a young woman said from the doorway, anxiously wringing her hands. “I swear.”

“D-don't be-” he grimaced and ran his hands through his hair, his finger getting caught in tangles in the long length. “Why are you frightened?”

She swallowed. “Th-that's wrong, isn't it?” she asked nervously. “I said the wrong thing.”

He frowned. “I don't...think so.”

She quickly fell to her knees, placing her forehead against the ground. “I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant,” she said her voice cracking a bit. “You are back in Haven, my lord.”

Vanarel sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and trying to breathe deeply. “What happened?”

“Everybody's talking about what you did,” she said, her eyes brightening as if she were excited. “The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark of your hand!”

She rose up a bit farther, her eyes filled with wonder and he grimaced. “I suppose a trial happens now?”

She frowned. “I-I don't know anything about that,” she said as she backed away quickly. “Lady Cassandra would want to know you've wakened, she said ‘at once’.”

Vanarel began to stand quicky, eager to find the woman and figure out what happened after he lost consciousness. “And where is she?”

“In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor,” she said, backing away. “At once, she said.” The woman scurried off and he sighed.

He ran a hand roughly through his white hair again, tugging on it a bit as it got caught on tangles.

He sighed and ran his fingers through the length, combing it as best he could before using a strip of leather he found nearby to tie it back. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of the small cabin and into the cold. 

The air chilled his ears, numbing them. He breathed out and saw a small cloud of white formed around him. Walking through Haven, he tried not to look at all the people who whispered about him, who held their hands to their faces as he passed. He had to hide his grimace as some people even bowed to him and mumbled amongst themselves something about the Herald of Andraste.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vanarel growled softly, looking up at the Breach, bright green staining the sky a putrid color. Clouds swirled around the chasm, a clean white against the vile green, a green that shone from his palm every time he looked at it.

He clenched his hand into a fist and walked through the mountainous area of the Hinterlands, followed by Cassandra, Solas, and Varric.

He remained fairly silent, the only sounds coming from his mouth were commands he shouted if they began a battle with threatening wildlife. 

“I notice you aren't as loud as I'd expect a conquering hero to be,” Varric joked, his tone light.

Vanarel didn’t respond, his body tense as they walked toward the crossroads to meet with a Revered Mother, Giselle, he believed her name was. 

“And you don't seem to much like conversation,” he mumbled.

“I can talk when I feel like it,” he said softly, hand twitching. “And I just...don't feel like it now.”  
That was a lie, he wanted desperately to talk, to vent, to have just a moment to sit and cry. But he couldn't. Not with so many people counting on him like this, not when he was their ‘Herald’.

“Ah so that's what your voice sounds like,” the dwarf chuckled and smacked his back, his large palm making a loud noise. He quirked a brow when the small elf squeaked, literally squeaked, and laughed again.

Vanarel sighed before talking to the dwarf again. “Please be quiet,” he said.

Varric continued laughing. “But come on, that was-”

“Varric,” he whispered, pulling his bow out quietly. Vanarel could pick up the light sound of footsteps coming from far away, the crunching of leaves reminding him of his hunts. The dwarf was silent, looking at the Herald with a frown.

Men surrounded the group, falling in on them from nearly every direction before they’d had the chance to take a full breath.

Vanarel grunted as he tried avoiding a mad templar’s sword, narrowly dodging the thin tip of the blade and trying to remember how to hold his bow. The man was relentless however, and continued going after the Herald, following him as he broke away from the group.

The small elf jumped back, flipping onto a large rock, drawing an arrow back to his cheek. It’s not really different from hunting an elk, he had tried to tell himself. Loose the arrow. The blade pierces flesh and a life ends. You’ve killed countless animals, just do it.

Loose the damn arrow. Let. it. Go. 

He took a deep breath and watched the Templar try to scramble up the rock, slipping back in his bulky armor.

Vanarel swallowed thickly, his hands shaking as he looked into the man’s eyes, bright blues burning with emotions, a man desperate to fight and die for what he knew to be right. He’d seen that look in many eyes during his younger days.

And Vanarel couldn’t loose the damn arrow, couldn’t release the tense string. 

Lucky for him, before the Templar could reach him he got knocked down, a long sword piercing his chest and his mouth opened uselessly as he gasped for breath. He locked eyes with the Herald and tears filled them before he fell back, lifeless. Cassandra stood over him, her face etched in concentration as she ripped that blade back out and turned away from his body.

Vanarel lowered his bow, his breathing heavy. He couldn't get the image out of his head, the thought that that man may have had a family, he may have a child, a child who didn't understand why his papae wasn't coming home. He may have been bonded, had someone who loved him dearly waiting for him to come back from the war. 

“Come da’len,” Solas said gently, holding a hand up to Vanarel, noticing the young man’s shaking form. “We must still speak with the Mother.”

Vanarel tried climbing down the rock despite his trembling, slipping on the smooth surface and he was caught effortlessly by Solas who released him within the second. He wanted to cry, wanted to feel another warm body against his own again. Instead he walked away from the group, his body as tense as the bowstring he hadn't been able to release.

Stepping behind the only woman he could find dressed in her ridiculously impractical Chantry robes, he waited patiently while she coaxed a young man into being healed. When she turned to him, he kept his face passive, trying his best to hide any emotions he may have felt.

“You have no problem with magic?” he asked, narrowing his brow just the slightest. She didn’t seem like a bad woman, especially if that was how she felt about magic.

She looked down. “We do not teach that magic is evil, we teach that pride is evil,” she said softly. “And that it does not affect only mages. However, I did not ask you to come here simply to debate with me.” She looked back at him. Her eyes seemed warm but they still made him wary.

“Why did you ask for me?”

She motioned for him to follow her as she walked through the Crossroads, staring sadly at injured soldiers. “I have heard much of you, Herald.”

“Do not call me that,” he said, his tone a bit harsher than he meant it to be.

She nodded. “I apologize,” she said. “However, using that title may be advantageous to your cause.”

He frowned. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Go to Val Royeaux, speak with the chantry representatives,” she said softly. “Show them who you and the Inquisition truly are.”

He scoffed. “They want me dead.”

“They have heard only frightful tales of you,” she said patiently. “Give them something else to believe.”

“You make it sound easy,” he said through his teeth, attempting politeness but probably failing.

She smiled softly at him. “You needn't convince all of them, you only need a few to doubt,” she held up a finger. “Their power is their unified voice, take that away from them and you gain the time you need.” She turned from him and began walking away before stopping and glancing back. “I will go to Haven, perhaps I can be of more use there.”

He sighed and rubbed the crease in his forehead. 

Cassandra walked up to him with blood drying on her armor. “Herald, is something the matter?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. That blasted title infuriated him every time he heard it, the complete disregard for him having his own gods seemed to roll so easily off their tongues. The disrespect for his people didn’t bother them at all.

“It is nothing,” he said. “We are going to Val Royeaux.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“We need to speak with the Grand Clerics.”

“We should inform the others before we go then,” she said beginning to walk toward her horse.

“We can send a raven,” he said, moving to begin writing the letter to his advisors. “I'd like to finish this swiftly.”

She frowned but nodded tensely. “As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your opinion on this gives me life~


	3. Chapter 3

He left the large gates of Val Royeaux with a massive headache, his blood pounding through his temples with every step. His ponytail seemed much too tight and he pulled it out, wincing as the leather strip got caught in the length for a moment.   
“Herald,” Cassandra said. He bit the inside of his cheek, the taste of copper filling his mouth. “We need to inform the others of what’s occurred.”  
“I know that Cassandra,” he said, probably a bit more forcefully than was appropriate and he winced. She glowered at him.  
“I regret the actions the templars here have taken but there is no reason to be angry with me,” she said sourly.  
“I apologize,” he said. “I am not myself, however, I don’t think we should seek out the templars’ aid unless it becomes a last resort.” No, the templars would do more harm than good in this situation.   
“Excuse me,” they heard a soft voice behind them say, cutting Cassandra off before she could speak again. “If I might have a moment of your time. If you are looking for assistance with the Breach, perhaps my people could be of more value.”  
An elven woman walked up to them, wearing dark blue robes. He grimaced at the circle’s insignia on her belt, sighing as he turned to her. “The mages weren't willing to help before, why now?”  
“I wanted to wait and see what the Chantry would do,” she said. “But now I have seen them for what they are, and I have seen the Inquisition for what it is.”  
Vanarel crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean?”  
“Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe,” she said, bowing a bit. “Speak with the mages there and see if there’s anyway we can be of use. I look forward to meeting with you, au revoir my lord Herald.”  
She walked away, her circle robes swishing around her legs with each step, a dark blue against the marble floor. The group was silent for several moments before Cassandra sighed.  
“We need to go back and-”  
“Yeah, I got it,” Vanarel says, cutting her off and stepping quickly. She glared at his retreating form.  
“Herald, are you-”  
“I’m fine, Seeker,” he says strongly. She growls softly but silences when Varric places a gentle hand on her arm, shaking his head.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“You expect the mages to be more unified?” Cullen asked, bitterness poisoning his words. “They could be ten times worse!”  
“But we have no way of knowing without talking to them,” Josephine shouted back, her shrill voice hurting Vanarel’s ears.  
“What would be the point?” he countered. “We have no leverage with them.”  
“And you think we could get the templars to follow us without a fight?”  
The Herald sighed and stood from his chair, a small wooden seat in the corner of the room where he perched and listened to them argue. Nimble limbs unfolded as he rose and walked to the table, staring at the small models hard.  
“I'm going to speak with the mages,” he said finally. His soft voice would have easily been missed if Leliana hadn't heard him, her ears used to picking up the smallest of sounds.  
“Are you certain, Herald?” she asked, her accent thick in her voice. “It may be safer to seek out the templars.”  
Cullen turned to him. “You want to talk to the mages too?” he growled. “With the veil the way it is, it'd be a miracle if any of them could resist temptation.”  
Vanarel glared at him. “They aren't monsters, Cullen,” he said firmly. “They can control themselves. Especially when they aren’t your prisoners.”  
Cullen glowered. “This isn’t about control, it’s-”  
“Enough,” Cassandra said, her harsh voice making the small elf jump. “We cannot afford to be divided now. If the Herald wishes for us to seek out the mages, we shall.”  
By the tone in her voice it was obvious she didn't much like the idea either but Vanarel was grateful for her intervention. Cullen sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead.  
“Fine, but we must be careful,” he said before turning to the small dalish. “You must be careful.”  
He nodded before stepping out of the war room, effectively ending their meeting. He trusted them not to discuss things of importance without him, despite his inability to understand much of anything they spoke about. And even if they did talk without him it wouldn’t matter. He had no authority here. He was just an elf.  
Cassandra and Josephine had to explain the same thing several times before he could make a bloody decision and he hated it. Hated how whenever Cullen tried to include him in his decisions with the troops it turned into a conversation that lasted for hours. Despised whenever Josephine had to get him to sign a form and she’d have to repeat over and over what it was for and how it was beneficial as if she were speaking to a child.  
Walking into the cold mountain air he inhaled deeply, the chill burning his throat in a way that made him think of his travels with his clan. He'd spend hours in the woods with his Brothers, chasing ram and elk and simply enjoying being free. And Creators what he’d give to just see the aravels from a distance now.  
Now he was the ‘Herald of Andraste, blessed hero sent to save them all’ according to Solas. He ran a hand through his long hair, pulling it up and tying it before walking away from the Chantry.  
Haven was bustling, people rushing by so fast with so many things to do it nearly made him panic. There was so much going on, he didn't belong here. He belonged in the woods, with a bow in hand carved with the intricate designs his clan’s master had lovingly etched out. He needed to be able to run his hands over the smooth divots in the wood and know that they were near, he needed them.  
“Hey there Mouse,” Varric said suddenly, shocking the elf who let out a small squeak. “There you are.”  
“Wh-what do you-”  
“I've been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now,” he said, concern furrowing his brow. “You alright?”  
Vanarel cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “I am fine, did you need something Varric?”   
He shouldn't be thinking about his clan, it would only hurt in the long run. They were better off not knowing what he did here, what he was to these people. They were better off not knowing about the Herald of Andraste.  
“Mouse, if you need a bit…” Varric trailed off.  
“I'm fine,” Vanarel said, choosing to ignore the nickname Varric insisted on giving him. He actually kind of liked it, it made him feel, just the smallest bit, as if he were home again.  
Varric sighed. “Alright,” he said. “The Seeker suggested we head to Redcliffe now.”  
Vanarel nodded. “Can you grab Solas, please?”  
The dwarf nodded and walked off and Vanarel was alone again, well, as alone as one could be in Haven.   
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Herald,” someone said respectfully, bowing as the gates to Redcliffe opened. “We spread word the Inquisition was here, but I'll have you know, nobody knew we were coming.”  
Vanarel frowned. “Not even First Enchanter Fiona?”  
The spy shook his head, tension furrowing his brow. “If anyone knew, they've been quiet about it.”  
“We should speak with her quickly, Herald,” Cassandra said from behind him.  
“Herald,” a stranger said, walking up quickly. Dark brown leather covered his body. They were different than he was used to seeing but he could tell they were Circle robes. “Welcome, Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn't yet arrived.” He seemed to think for a moment before continuing. “You may speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”  
He led them to a tavern, opening the door for them and bowing respectfully, a gesture Vanarel had begun hating. Stepping in, it was obvious they stuck out. Their armor and weapons seemed loud and large in the small space and eyes turned to the group as they walked through. After speaking with Fiona, Vanarel’s head hurt even more and he rubbed his eyes wearily.  
“Who do I speak to now then?” he snapped, an action uncharacteristic of him, one he regretted when she frowned disapprovingly.   
“Herald, I understand you’re-”  
He slammed his hands on the table in front of him, glaring at her. “Who do I speak to now that you’ve made the worst mistake of your life?” he growled, the members of his party tense around him. “Who do I speak with now that you’ve signed away these people’s rights?” She looked on the verge of tears but he didn’t care. He felt rage unfurling inside him, making his head pound. “How do I fix your mistake?’  
She swallowed thickly. “Magister Alexius is-”  
“Ah, hello my friends,” a deep voice sounded behind them, startling Vanarel into breaking his stare. The heavy sound of his footsteps were loud, mingling with the sound of Cassandra’s clinking armor. “How may I help you?”  
Debates began and went as smoothly as they possibly could go when you were dealing with people’s lives before Alexius’s son, Felix as he was introduced, walked back into the room, stumbling before falling onto Vanarel. The elf was surprised at his own ability to catch the man, his heavy weight nearly knocking the smaller man down.  
Rough parchment was pushed into his hand, a secret gesture that, luckily for all of them, he was smart enough to keep that way.  
As he watched Alexius carry his son out he read the note, the words falling out of his mouth in the form of a question.  
“We need to check this out,” he reasoned, as much as he would simply like to go rushing as far from here as he could and into a nearby thicket of trees to rest. The day had been exhausting and he wanted nothing more than for it to end.  
The others followed him back outside, wind pushing at them gently. He sighed and walked up the steps of Redcliffe's chantry, opening the heavy door, not expecting the scene in front of him.  
A dark skinned man stood in the middle of the long room, using a mage’s staff to defend himself against a group of demons that poured from a bright green tear in the fade. His short hair billowed in the breeze the heavy door created and Vanarel could see a drop of sweat drip down the side of his face.  
The man looked at the group as they entered and threw on a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah, hello there,” he said and Vanarel swallowed thickly. His voice felt like silk against bare skin, soft and gentle, barely there. “Would you mind helping me with this?”  
His snarky remarks and comments filled the room throughout the fight and Vanarel had trouble remembering what he was doing, nearly hitting Cassandra with a stray arrow more than once. When the rift was closed, Solas scolded him for losing concentration, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.  
“Even a moment can mean the end of a life,” he said, brows furrowed and arms crossed. His eyes were narrowed at the smaller elf. “You must be alert.”  
Vanarel stared at the ground, his shoulders tense with his attempts to keep from crying. “I'm sorry hahren,” he said, guilt riding his words and his voice cracking. “I'll be more careful next time.”  
Solas’s expression softened and he sighed. “Da’len-”  
“Ah yes, not that that isn't important and all,” the mage said, effectively keeping Solas from speaking with him again. “But I obviously wouldn't have called you here if it wasn't for a reason.”  
“Who are you?” Cassandra asked, with narrowed eyes.  
The mage bowed. “Of course, where are my manners?” he said, chuckling. “Dorian of house Pavus, currently of Minrathous. How do you do?”  
Vanarel ran his hand over his hair, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and be polite. “I was expecting Felix…”  
“He should be here soon,” Dorian said, waving his hand as if swatting a fly. “He was supposed to come meet us here after ditching his father.”  
“And just why,” Vanarel began, quirking a brow. He did his best to sound mature, like the leader the Inquisition needed. Like the Herald they needed, “have you invited me here?”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Have you gone mad?” Cullen said, voice just on the verge of yelling and Vanarel rubbed his temple. The headache was back. And here he’d just gotten the bloody thing to go away.  
“Perhaps I am,” Vanarel said lightly, attempting a joke. He was barely able to keep himself from flinching at the look the Commander gave him.  
“You can’t seriously want to go,” he shouted, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “It’d be suicide.”  
“It’s the only option we have, Cullen,” Vanarel said, voice noticeably quieter than the Commander’s. He didn’t want to argue. He wanted to sleep.  
“And he would be an excellent distraction,” Leliana said, voice softer than his.   
“And while the Magister is distracted, your agents take out the guards,” Cullen said before rubbing his face roughly. “I understand your plan but it's still a huge risk.”  
Vanarel shrugged and attempted laughing again. “Can't be much more dangerous than what I normally do,” he said lightly.  
He hoped they couldn't see him shaking, hoped his voice sounded a lot more certain than he heard it as.  
“Luckily you'll have help,” a silken voice said from the door, causing the elf to jump and letting out a small, surprised squeak. Dorian grinned at him, filing the sound away in his mind for further analysis and possible teasing.   
“He says he has information for the Herald,” a scout said, his head poking around the door. Cullen nodded and waited until it was closed before turning to Dorian.  
“If you want in the castle,” he said, stopping Cullen before he could speak. “You'll need me. Your agents won't get in without him realizing if you don’t have me there.”  
Leliana narrowed her eyes, tensing up the smallest amount. “And why is that?”  
He chuckled. “I don't doubt your men's ability,” he says. “But Alexius has certain...toys to keep your men out.”  
She nodded seriously. “Tell us everything.”  
He laughed, literally laughed out loud, and the sound had Vanarel grinning, his headache easing somewhat. “Only if I get to go with you lot,” he said, staring hard at Sister Nightingale, a challenge in his eyes. A challenge she seemed ready to meet.  
Said woman glared at him. “Excuse you, but-”  
“You may come,” Vanarel interrupted, shocking nearly everyone into silence. The looks his advisors were giving him made him flush and he glanced at the mage. “He may come.”  
“Thank you,” Dorian said, chancing a playful wink at the elf. The Herald’s cheeks flushed a bit but he looked away quickly, turning back to his advisors to talk about their plan.  
“We shall leave tomorrow,” he finished. “At dawn. Can you be ready by then Dorian?”  
“I don't know,” he teased, grinning at the Herald. “That seems awful early, are you sure we can't wait until midday?”  
The elf looked down, placing his chin in his hand and furrowing his brow, obviously deep in thought. “I...suppose we can attempt to-”  
Cassandra smacked him on the back of the head and he turned to yell at her before she glared at Dorian. “You're lucky you're even coming, we leave at dawn,” she growled and walked off, her heavy footfalls echoing as they trailed off.  
Cullen sighed and followed in her direction. “If you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”  
Leliana and Josephine followed close behind him and shut the door, closing Vanarel in with the mage.   
He rubbed the back of his head, the impact from Cassandra’s hand stinging more than she probably meant it to. But the ache spread from where she'd hit him down to his toes and he clenched his teeth.  
A distraction, he thought. I need…  
“So,” Dorian drawled. “You're in charge of this entire show hm?”  
Vanarel stayed silent, not trusting his voice not to waver. A show was probably the right way of putting it, and he hated it. He hated the lies and pressure to be perfect, he didn't want to be their bloody ‘Herald’. He just wanted to go home. He wanted the forests and the wind, he wanted to feel the community he had with his clan.  
He wanted to watch his Keeper use magic for ceremony and rituals, wanted to see his sister sneak away from her lessons to tell him bedtime stories again. He wanted-  
“Herald, are you...alright?” Dorian asked, suddenly much closer than Vanarel remembered him being.  
The elf jumped and backed away from him, eyes wide. “I...I'm fine,” he said softly, trying to hide his shaking. He threw on a quick smile, hating the way it pulled at his heart to do so.  
“I can see that,” he said lightly, attempting a joke. Dorian looked up and down the elf’s body making the smaller man shiver.  
The elf ignored his words as best he could, wrapping his arms around his waist protectively. His face contorted, twisting in the way a child’s might before they cry but he turned away before any noise left him.  
Dorian looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if unsure of how to deal with the Herald’s sudden display of emotion. The young man’s skin was pale, nearly translucent, glowing in the candlelight.  
“Excuse me,” he said softly, walking toward the door and throwing it open, walking out quickly, The mage wasn't sure what to do, other than watch the Herald leave. So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired help me XD tell me what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, yes the beginning is kind of boring but it will get better in the future. I just have to get past the intro of the game. Please stick with it and tell me what you think!


End file.
